


THE SHORE

by SILKCUT



Series: ɪɴꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱɪʟᴋᴄᴜᴛ [1]
Category: The Epic of Gilgamesh, The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Inscribed by SILKCUT, Original Character(s), Twitter Roleplay Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29060703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SILKCUT/pseuds/SILKCUT
Summary: Tнιѕ ιѕ нow Deαтн ғoυɴd нιм:On the dusty floor in a shriveled position next to the corpse of the one he deemed as his first friend if not the last.
Relationships: Enkidu/Gilgamesh (Mesopotamian Mythology)
Series: ɪɴꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱɪʟᴋᴄᴜᴛ [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132040
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	THE SHORE

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Ｇｉｌｇａｍｅｓｈ Ｇｏｕｌｄ

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##  Ｔｈｅ Ｓｈｏｒｅ 

##  **༻✧**

Tнιѕ ιѕ нow Deαтн ғoυɴd нιм:

On the dusty floor in a shriveled position next to the corpse of the one he deemed as his first friend if not the last.

There had been no one else in the throne room for many days and nights except this grieving king. No one dared to invite themselves as an audience, not even his mother. The goddess Ninsun still lingered outside the room though, alternating between pacing anxiously or weeping in guilty silence. Gilgamesh would not even look at her anymore or at least never again in the same fervent devotion and trust he used to shower her with. Ninsun after all failed him when she merely stood by as the gods brought upon severe punishment to his friend Enkidu.

Death had walked past the defeated goddess in question on the night when she finally made her way to the throne room. Ninsun only raised her eyes to see what kind of visitor would bravely face Gilgamesh in his worst state and was rendered speechless upon recognizing who it was.

"Your tears will not repair your relationship with your son," Death spoke to her in a tone bereft of real compassion as she stopped a yard away to meet Ninsun's bloodshot eyes. "You have spoiled him too much that he kept refusing to answer to no one but his own whims. Lᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜɪs sᴇʟғ﹣ʙᴇʟɪᴇғ ʜᴀᴅ sᴏᴡᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴘᴇᴅ." She stopped momentarily as she took a few steps closer to the goddess.

With a milder tone now, Death also added, "I sense that the proud Urukian king has questions he is far too afraid to ask you or your gods-kin whom he perceives now as enemies. His grief is so potent that I'm surprised he hasn’t found a way to turn it into a weapon, knowing your son's reputation and if it truly does precede him." There was something caustic about the way Death phrased that.

"His reputation?" Ninsun looked almost angry but easily curtailed her expression into one that is humble and compliant out of respect for the Mσтнεя σƒ All Bειиgѕ she was addressing right now. Ninsun explained, "Gilgamesh was a lot of things but he was still just a boy. He needed to be tamed and so the gods blessed him with Enkidu. I have never seen my son so complete as soon as he embraced Enkidu as a man would a wife, and even more so because Gɪʟɢᴀᴍᴇsʜ ғɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʟᴇᴀʀɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟsᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇs ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ."

"But his companion is gone and I am here to take them," Death looked at Ninsun's earnest face and tried to discern if she had anything else to say on the matter. "Any creature that develops a sentience can dream but that means they also die. It just so happens that ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ. And this Enkidu, this lump of clay who aspired to stand equal with your blessed son, they are the one I came for. I do, however, expect some form of resistance from the king."

She nodded at the doors behind Ninsun. "Let me pass and I guarantee to do what you should have done since Enkidu's passing."

"And what would that be?" Ninsun willingly stepped away, her eyes now downcast in an expression of subservience.

"I am Death and all creation eventually, inevitably, comes home to me." She reached out to push the doors open but not before she answered the goddess. "And for this brokenhearted king, I will be the mother you have failed to be."

## ➷

After Death left Ninsun to reflect on her shortcomings, she glided into the throne room with the air of someone who had seen enough sorrow of mortal beings that it left her more disconnected with their despair rather than sympathetic. Death along with her other siblings had taken an anthropomorphic form ever since the first beings in the Universe somewhere across galaxies were born, and she had been there too when they died. She will be the very last one to close the door on the universe once that ending comes, but it's been so long since her awakening, and she was a little fatigued by now. She just came from the kingdoms of Nile River days ago where her essence is worshipped by pharaohs and their subjects, lavished by treasures and complicated rituals that Death found somewhat indulgent if not completely pointless.

Uruk was another place in Earth she had to visit. This was just another errand.

And there was Gilgamesh who abandoned his throne for the unclean floor, who nestled his friend protectively as if he thought that they were only holding their breath and would rouse from slumber as long as he waited. Death stood there just yards away from him, her dusky eyes lacking any warmth as her demeanor remained clinical and business-like. She dared not speak just yet, recognizing the sanctity of the moment. Endings were always difficult for the bereaved and in this case it's even more complicated because this king hailed as Gilgamesh of the mighty and prosperous Uruk is a man who had never been denied of anything before.

Tʜɪs ᴡᴀs ʜɪs ғɪʀsᴛ ʟᴏss. She supposed she could go easy on him.

"If you cannot stand, you should at least sit. You are royal and semi-divine and grief should not be able to consume you to a point that you cannot even find strength to face me."

Gilgamesh didn’t speak for a long time. He remained where he was, grasping on someone who will never come back. After a while he did respond but without meeting the eyes of the one who was speaking to him. He simply uttered, "I don't know who you are."

"But you do," She crossed her arms, her stance even more rigid than before. "You hear the name in your head. You feel the truth in your bones. Yσυ'νε киσωи мε αll чσυя lιƒε, вυт I'м αlѕσ тнε σиε чσυ иενεя ωιѕнεd тσ мεεт. Stand and face me, Lugalbanda's heir. I am the ending that you dread yet one you can never escape from."

And the proud king started screaming but not directly at Death. "I HATE IT! I HATE THIS! I DON'T WANT ANY OF THIS!"

He did let go of his friend at last but started tearing his royal robes instead. The shrill sound of fabric being torn filled the otherwise eerie silence of the throne room. "Why? Why did I have to be born as less than a god? Meanwhile the divine mocks me by showing me exactly how little it matters that I live while the one I love rots. Look at me!"

He was staring at his hands now, clutching the torn cloth of his robes. "What I merely have is a half-mortal vessel of flesh and blood that can and will expire. I will die..." he trailed off, gasping for air as if getting choked by it. He coughed violently and continued to weep like a lost babe "…I will die alone one day and be forgotten like some common man without worth! I HATE THIS!"

She just watched him without blinking, an arm now raised so she can cup her chin on the heel of her palm. Her expression looked almost sullen, as if she even cared. She had heard such soliloquies before so she had not felt inclined to offer him any comfort. That was not part of her duty.

With unhurried ease she began to approach, her dusky eyes hardening just a bit as she answered, "Cease your complaints, Gilgamesh of Uruk. It is futile to believe yourself otherwise exempt from my reach. But I did not come for you tonight. I come for the one they call Enkidu, the clay fashioned by the deities of Babylon to be your equal. They breathed life into Enkidu and now their creation was declared naught. They are not returning to the land of the living, Urukian king. Best that you step away and let me take them to eternal rest."

“And what if I don’t?” It didn’t sound like a legitimate challenge. His tone was a whisper, almost as if he was attempting to put up a fight for the appearance of it but was clearly far too sad and fatigued to mean what he said. He simply resumed clinging onto his dead friend, inhaling the rot as if it was a pleasant aroma. He seemed to be completely uncaring of the maggots that have began sprouting out of different sections of the body he so desperately wanted to preserve just for a little while longer.

Death frowned at his stubbornness but perhaps she also admired it. To her ageless kind who are more paragons than anything that could be considered humane or attached to anything, Gilgamesh was yet another pitiful child with a limited perspective due to his privilege and ignorance of how ultimately powerless he is in the grander scheme of the universe. She should know better than to meddle in the affairs of expiring creatures, but now she approached him again until she was standing directly above him.

Her black gown reached down the floor, sheathing the surrounding surface like dark waters that never ripple at all. Death gazed down at the broken king before she felt inclined to raise her hand, moving closer and closer until she was petting the golden crown of hair that was rough like yarn. The rich color of gold somewhat lost its luster, but she kept touching his hair as if this was the best consolation she could offer.

For one deemed as the Mother of All Beings, Death has never been particularly maternal.

## ➷

She stayed with him for another day. The plan originally was to take away Enkidu’s essence with her and go to her next appointment, but Death instead chose to linger in the palace of Uruk. Perhaps she could make an exception for this case. Perhaps it would prove to be more productive if she allowed the bereaved to make his own choice about whether or not he should let go of the dead. Whatever reason she may have, she dwelt there with the king to witness his denial, concealed in a corner next to the throne itself like a forgotten ornament.

Another day passed and Gilgamesh had migrated back to his throne at last but all the while still carrying the cadaver of his beloved. Death never interfered or said anything even as a civilian or someone from the royal court approached to seek advice or solution for a task or problem at hand. Gilgamesh never gave his counsel; he had failed in that role because he saw no more meaning in governance. Ninsun came back only to handle the affairs of her son, serving as temporary regent. It was also her way to appease herself from the guilt her son would not absolve.

Death also heard the hushed whispers from cynics about how completely Gilgamesh had severed his ties to his kingdom; that he might as well sit atop a pile of ashes now than a throne. It would suit him better, they said, seeing as how useless he had become to his subjects.

His heart only belongs to the dead now and nothing would ever bring him back.

On the third day of Death’s visit, Gilgamesh was still sitting mindlessly on his throne when he happened to turn and look at the face of his friend. For the first time—but much to his horror—the king acknowledged the state of his friend’s decay. Enkidu’s face had already caved in. His nose became a home to maggots while those eyes have sunk like empty craters. Strands of what used to voluminous green hair had withered away, falling off from the scalp like shredded rope. Death wore a mild expression while she watched the king’s reaction to this.

Gilgamesh trembled with a fierce understanding that he had delayed what was inevitable all along. Still, he never spoke to Death directly and merely summoned for his mother and servants to take Enkidu’s body away. He stepped out of his throne with a weakened gait and for a moment it was hard to tell which one of them was the corpse because the king himself looked as if he was ready to crumble and never be put back together again. If Death ever felt anything, she surmised this could have been heartbreaking.

## ➷

The funeral arrangements were odd, to say the least, and this opinion was coming from Death herself who had experienced all kinds of customs creatures have practiced to honor the dead, not just in this world but also with other planets from billions of galaxies.

But what Gilgamesh did that day was ᴜɴɴᴇʀᴠɪɴɢ. To build a large monument and dedicate it to his fallen friend right at the heart of the city was one thing. It was a measly effort compared with the civilization from the Nile River. However, he also had the entire population of Uruk weep and grieve quite ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ for the memory of his friend. Men, women, children—elite or slave—mourned the king’s companion as if they were kin and not at all a stranger. And Gilgamesh’s subjects—even though they have accused him of abandoning his kingship—had given their whole beings into expressing this consuming grief. Death had felt the sharpness of its authenticity.

The earnest tear-stained faces of the people of Uruk were an incomparable sight to behold.

Did they not ask the gods before to punish Gilgamesh for being so greedy and lustful with their wives and daughters? And here they are, offering their most genuine expression of sorrow to ᴀ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴍᴜsᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇᴅ. And it occurred to Death that perhaps they knew that it was Enkidu who had ᴛᴀᴍᴇᴅ Gilgamesh, who molded him into the king they have always dreamed and believed he could be. To lose Enkidu is to lose a part of Gilgamesh and Uruk that have flourished. Death had heard the exploits of Inanna, Great Anu’s entitled daughter and goddess of war, who almost laid siege to Uruk by unleashing the Bull of Heaven. Who stood against this mighty horror but Gilgamesh and Enkidu themselves? The friends have protected Uruk and restored the kingdom as partners.

It should be no surprise that when people remember Enkidu in name, it would be because they are exulted as a hero.

Death was just a yard behind Gilgamesh as he stood above his palace’s terrace, watching over the thousands upon thousands of grief-stricken citizens who are on their knees with hands outstretched. They bemoan and cry to the heavens how the gods were cruel to rob them off Enkidu, their king’s equal and beloved friend. And Death had looked at Gilgamesh’s face and found it lacking in any of the emotion his own subjects are displaying wildly beneath him. It took half an hour before Uruk fell silent again and the people returned to their own homes.

The king walked away from the terrace as Death trailed closely behind. Instead of returning to the throne or his private chambers, Gilgamesh hastily had run down the steps of his palace, all while howling and shrieking as he tore through his garments and ripped even his own hair.

She didn’t follow him anymore. Something akin to dread had seized her as if warning her not to trek his path. Gilgamesh had begun to disappear into the thick forestry outside Uruk. Death would like to believe the king had allowed himself to be driven by madness. Lesser men than he who had been in the same position had given up. If anything it was impressive he managed to hold on as much as he had.

Still, she lingered and waited by the palace. The next afternoon she decided to cross the woods after all and was surprised to find that the once proud king was now just a vagrant in faded rags, interacting freely with the animals as if he was a beast and not a man.

It was then that Death took her leave. She should have left during the funeral yesterday for there are other dying creatures across the universe that need her more than this broken king. Death was not one to be moved by plain sentiment, if at all, so why did she even waste her time? She’s not one to reflect either, so she put it behind her now and never came back to Uruk.

## ➷

It must have been a few weeks for Gilgamesh when she saw him again. Death’s concept of time was her own but she was never bound to it, so she could only approximate how long it was for him. When she found him, he was walking towards the shoreline, soaked to the bone, grasping onto something in one hand. The waves were particularly strong that day but they seemed to avoid touching Gilgamesh altogether, allowing him smooth passage back to the sand. Death was not waiting for him; she was actually on a short break, enjoying the scenery of the sea where its fluid depths could meet the horizon above. It was rather beautiful, and Death rarely finds that much beauty in life. 

She knew the king recognized her, but he paid her no heed even as they stood yards apart now. He looked almost like his old self except that he had allowed is golden locks to grow, reaching his waist. Death spoke up first and asked, “Where have you gone, child?”

“Everywhere,” was his hurried answer. He was still drenched but the scent of sea-salt on his skin was fragrant and she almost reached out to touch him just because. She didn’t though and waited for him to go on which he did. “I battled monsters as a perfunctory task, hunted and destroyed, conversed with a few strangers. And all for the promise that I would see the one the gods granted eternal life to—ᴀɴ ɪᴍᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟɪᴛʏ.”

“He denied you, of course,” Death always knew how the story goes and how it ends. “Did you really expect to be granted with the same privilege?”

“Not quite,” Gilgamesh raised the plant he had on his hand. The look of recognition in her eyes sealed it for him. He grinned.

“My, my,” she offered him a solemn smile. “It looks like you always get what you want after all.”

“Exactly,” Gilgamesh stared at the plant for a moment before he turned his head to the side where a snake had been crawling closer and closer towards them. Bending to his haunches, the king tossed the plant towards the reptile. “You want it?” he asked with a soft tone. “Go on, take it."

The snake obeyed and bit and chewed the plant which was unusual for its kind preferred meat not vegetation. The two of them watched in comfortable silence until the last leaf of the plant was devoured. It had happened so casually as if this wasn’t a definitive moment. Looking withdrawn by now, Death had nothing else to say to him except: “Do you even know what and why you’re giving up, Gilgamesh?”

The Urukian king straightened up and met her eyes for the first time since their meeting at the throne room.

“Only a fool wishes to be immortal, don’t you think so?”

And Death laughed. She’d never done that before. Nothing warranted her mirth and amusement until now. Nodding once, she told him. “All of you have often desired it because of some unfinished business, or the general fear of endings, maybe even the dread of being forgotten.” She closed the distance between them now as a hand reached to cup his chin. “Here is what being an immortal really means though: One, everybody else dies while you live. Two, nobody ever understands you. And three, everything—eventually—loses its meaning.”

Gilgamesh just stared at her with those crimson eyes more serpentine than she realized. Her hand moved to brush against his cheek now as she added, “Every candle's wick eventually must burn out. The wax would melt. The light is snuffed out. This is how it's always been for any mortal being. Aɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɪɴᴅ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇs sᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴄʜᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴅᴇʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ﹐ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs—ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ғᴀɪʟ—ғᴏʀɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴠᴇ.”

A hand shot up from the king’s left side, clutching around Death’s wrist. His voice shook as he whispered, “D-Do I die now? Must I still live?”

“But of course you should,” she smiled at him and it brightened up her face and lifted a burden in her shoulders she never knew had always been there since her sentience. “You haven’t even started to dream yet. Enkidu might be the one who went through my dominion yet you seem to be the ghost in this tragic story. Wнy doɴ’т yoυ dreαм, Gιlɢαмeѕн?”

“There is great terror in my dreams,” he closed his eyes, his lower lip quivering.

“Every sea has its monsters,” Death cupped both his cheeks now, staring at his eyelids before she let go. “You will go back to Uruk, won’t you?”

“Where else would I go now but home?” Gilgamesh slowly lifted his eyes but he cannot seem to focus on her anymore.

“Then go home,” she commanded him, her tone encouraging and kind—warmth emanating from it as if Death herself had found a purpose to go on. “Dream. Live. Write your story. Carve it in hardened clay which you molded with your own fingers. Sire children. Forgive your mother. Rule your city like the king your people have always wished you could be.” 

She clasped her hands together now as if in prayer as a surge of affection took her by surprise. “And please, Gilgamesh: Lᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟғ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ.”

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**[@NTHESKINOFALION](https://twitter.com/ntheskinofalion) **

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**Author's Note:**

> This was originally an excerpt from my 2016 Fate/Grand Order fanfiction [CAPRICES.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7784854/chapters/17757766)


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